Her quill scratched the parchment,
Leaving blots of ink behind.
Ridiculous, some might say,
Why waste time scribbling away?
But feelings can't be confined,
Nor a thought left as a fragment.
She wrote long into the night,
The pen forming words of its own.
"What is the point?" one may easily ask.
Why assign yourself such a task?
The answer to many is never known,
But to a few, it is clear and bright.
The characters call,
The scenes summon you.
The sentences, they do too.
Their promptings you cannot deny.
No matter how, no matter when,
You must answer with your pen.
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